


A Rip(per) in Time

by ArvenaPeredhel



Category: Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Comedy, Murder, Mystery, NOT BBC, Other, Time Travel, bookverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/pseuds/ArvenaPeredhel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1888. Sherlock Holmes is hot on the trail of Jack the Ripper, and if he doesn't catch the man soon Scotland Yard might just arrest him for crimes he didn't commit...</p><p>... and then two women from God knows where literally fall out of the sky and into the middle of his investigation. Suddenly his days are less about murder and more about "movies", and he finds himself trying to understand a world from decades in the future.</p><p>But the Ripper is still out there, and no amount of "feminism" can make the killer quit. It will take all of Holmes's intellect and all of Watson's ingenuity to solve this one, or they'll be learning all about something called "Tumbler" from the wrong side of a prison door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a comedy. Well, a comedy with heart, but still a comedy. Normally I hate these types of stories, but this time I decided to try it. Enjoy!

_from the case-book of Sherlock Holmes:_

September 11, 1888. It is a cold morning, unsurprising considering the geography of London. However, what is surprising is Mr. Eddings's decision to differ from his normal morning routine. I have observed him from the bench for ten days now, and he has never once paused on his morning walk to look at the pawn shop.

Until today. 

I have not yet decided the significance of this deviation, however I shall not forget it. Doubtless once he has left I will be able to speak with the pawnbroker to discover precisely what he showed interest in.

~*~

Pawnbroker unhelpful. Shall return at a later time with fingerprinting kit and lockpick.

I often find myself wishing time would move more quickly. This matter of infidelity is but a trifle, and Mrs. Eddings can rest assured that her husband has not been frequenting the brothels she is so certain he was spotted at. But I need something to fill my morning hours before the hunt can begin anew.

Leather Apron. The name is so mundane, and yet I find myself baffled at every turn by him. I am unsure, honestly, if I shall ever find him. The evidence is scant - 

~*~

This is a development. Of what sort I am not sure. I am not, as a rule, a fanciful man, and yet I would be willing to swear in court that I just saw two women fall out of the sky and land in a cart of sailcloth.

I am going to speak with them promptly.

-SH


	2. What the Fuck?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two:

"What the _fuck_?"

I winced, the stars behind my eyes no longer singing about the law, and looked over at Shelby.

"... can you not talk so loud? I think I have a concussion."

She rolled over and held up three fingers. 

"How many fingers?"

"Three."

"You're fine. Get up."

I sat up slowly, my head still spinning, and proceeded to make a rather shocked face.

"... um, Shelby?"

"What?" the petite woman murmured, sitting up and rubbing the back of her head.

"We're not in Muncie anymore."

"Well obviously. This is a cart. There aren't carts in Muncie."

"No, I mean _we're not in Muncie anymore_."

I pointed outside of the cart full of cloth we had so ungracefully landed in and watched as Shelby's jaw dropped.

"Meredith?"

"Yes?"

"Did... did we travel in time?"

"I think we did."

A huge grin spread over her face, and I could feel it bleed onto mine.

"YES!"


	3. The Fuck Are You?

Our joy was short-lived, however, as I soon found myself staring down an extremely shady-looking man. He'd emerged from some street corner, pipe in one hand, to leer at the two of us. His clothes were torn and patched, and his face was smudged with dirt.

"Well now," he said in a Cockney accent so thick you could swim through it, "this is interesting. Two lovely ladies such as yerselves, an' come right out of bloody nowhere!" His eyes darted over my body as he spoke, and despite my T-shirt and jeans I suddenly felt very exposed.

"Not out of nowhere." Shelby said. "Out of Muncie."

"Muncie?" the man asked. "Wot the 'ell is that?"

"It's a town." I said. "And my eyes are up here, _thank_ you very much."

"Yer practic'ly _invitin_ ' it, wot with yer nakedness." the man replied, leaning in closer. I could smell whiskey on his breath.

And then I punched him.

Hard, in the eye.

" _I_ ," I growled, "am _not_ an _object_. Learn that lesson or next time it'll be your dick that gets smashed."

Shelby was behind me, digging in her backpack for something, and when I looked over my shoulder she'd fished out a giant MagLite and was brandishing it like a club.

"One more word," she said, "and I'll hit you again!"

The flashlight was raised as the man stepped back.

"Wait!" he cried. "A moment. Please."

His voice had changed. Gone was the Cockney dock worker, and in its place was a smoother, more polished sort of speaker.

"What?" I murmured.

The man glanced over his shoulder into the square before methodically stripping off his scarf and overcoat, using a rag from some hidden pocket to wipe his face clean of - 

\- _stage makeup? Who is this man?_

A profoundly different face came into existence before our eyes, and to my shock it was a face I knew.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. High forehead. Aquiline nose.

"Um, Meredith?" Shelby asked. "Is that...?"

"Holy shit." I groaned. "I just punched Sherlock Holmes in the fucking face."


	4. An Unfortunate Turn

_from the case-book of Sherlock_ Holmes:

The young woman wearing a pair of unusually styled glasses and oddly tailored men's clothing decided to react to my lecherous persona with violence.

I shall probably have a black eye.

Her friend then was preparing to assault me with some sort of metallic weapon when I broke cover and revealed myself. That method proved fortuitous, because it was evident they recognized me.

The tall woman proceeded to swear like a sailor before revealing she knew me, and then she reacted by squealing with joy and flinging herself upon me in a display of feminine emotion I was not prepared to encounter.

I took the two of them back to Baker Street, as they refused to be separated from me.

~*~

Mrs. Hudson likes the shorter individual, whose name is Shelby Simonsen. Miss Simonsen is American, as is her friend Meredith; they are from some place called Muncie. I assume Muncie is a land of no morals.

~*~

Watson is scandalized at the nakedness of our guests. Shelby responded by telling him not to stare at her posterior, only in cruder terms. Meredith apologized for her outburst and explained she was merely an admirer of my work. I am uneasy around her, but she seems rational enough.

~*~

Both women claim to be from the future. I assume they are mentally ill, as time travel is impossible by modern standards. I do not expect they shall be able to prove their claims.

~*~

They are not mentally ill. Watson is shocked. I am intrigued. Will investigate further.

\- SH


	5. Of Handbags and Handguns

"So explain to me again how this device functions."

I sighed and once again pulled out my iPod.

"You press this button to get to the home screen, and you tap - not push, tap - the images on the screen to get what you want."

"Yes," Watson commented, "but what does it _do_?"

"Anything you want, really. Music, games, the Internet - "

"What's the Internet?"

_Shit. How am I supposed to explain what that means? They don't even have radio yet. And Tumblr. Shit. Tumblr. Oh gods what am I going to do?_

"It's... complicated, Watson. That's the most I can say."

His eyes traveled downward again, eyeing my black skinny jeans with equal parts fear, confusion, and arousal.

"Are you sure I cannot offer you a robe?"

I groaned.

"For the love of God, Watson, I am not naked!"

"You... you look naked."

"Because you can see that I have legs?"

"I... um, well..."

"I actually like Victorian fashion. But just for you I'm going to stay in pants."

He groaned. Our interlude was ended when Shelby burst through the door excitedly.

"Meredith! Meredith look!"

I looked over the edge of the chaise. Shelby was clutching a tiny gun and grinning almost idiotically.

"It fits in the dumbass bag that I got!" she proclaimed, brandishing the rather hideously ugly purse for me to see. "Sherlock got it for me."

"I'm sure Holmes is thrilled to find another firearms enthusiast." Watson remarked, having taken refuge behind the newspaper in an effort to avoid looking at me as I lounged on his flatmate's furniture. "Mrs. Hudson probably will have to sleep in fear of midnight marksmanship. Again."

"She'll adapt." I mused disinterestedly. Holmes had been gone all morning, and all night before that. I wondered what was going on, what case he'd snagged, and then the door burst open and the man himself was staring grimly at all of us.

"There's been another killing." he said. "Watson, grab your bag. Leather Apron has struck again."


	6. No what, Sherlock?

"I still do not understand why the two of you insisted on coming along."

"It's simple." I said. "You need the help. We can provide it. And ever since you bought us these lovely dresses," I continued, smoothing the wine-red gown I was wearing as I spoke, "we aren't in a state of what you believe to be nakedness."

"But... but you are..."

"Yes?" I asked, eyeing Holmes from where I sat beside him.

"A woman." he finished finally, giving me a condescending look.

I laughed. "No shit, Sherlock."

" _Excuse_ me?"

_Oh. Oh shit. Um, quick, Meredith, explain!_

"It's an expression from where I'm from. 2013." I lamely explained, hoping he didn't get too angry. "It's used whenever someone points out the obvious."

Holmes raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I am to become equated with stupidity in mankind?"

"No! Yes. Not exactly."

My reassurances weren't working on the now-frustrated man sharing the hansom cab with me.

"I see you as a hero." I continued. "I... well, I sort of fell in love with you."

The shudder that passed through my fellow passenger was both violent and frightened. He gave me a quick glance that smacked of sudden anxiety, and I found myself forced to backpedal almost immediately.

"I was young!" I cried. "Young and naïve and completely out of my head. Don't worry, Mr. Holmes. I'm not in love with you anymore."

"Thank God." he replied. "Because I cannot abide mindless sycophantic women."

"Sycophantic?"

"I find that love brings out in the weaker sex some vague desire to please. Doubtless it is an evolutionary remnant of our more primitive days when men dominated the domestic sphere as well as the sociopolitical one."

"The _weaker_ sex?"

"You cannot deny that Providence granted the male of _homo sapiens_ with both a stronger constitution and a greater mass of muscle. Therefore it is correct to call the more soft, submissive female the 'weaker sex'."

~*~

"That's fascinating, Miss Simonsen. So in the future anyone, women included, can be a doctor of any sort?"

"Yes. And both men and women work together equally."

Shelby let out a little gasp as the hansom cab in front of the one she and the doctor shared rocked suddenly, and then the long, lanky figure of Sherlock Holmes tumbled out of the side and onto the dusty street.

"Stop!" Watson cried. "Stop the cab!"

Both cabs slid to a halt, and the mustachioed doctor slid from his seat to assist his friend.

"Holmes, what happened?" he asked. "Has Miss Foster gone insane?"

"Not exactly." he replied.

"Meredith, what the fuck did you do?" Shelby shouted forward. I stuck my head out of the cab and grinned back at her.

"He called women the weaker sex. And then tried to justify it. I threw him out of the hansom. Consider that my rebuttal, _Mr._ Holmes!"

Watson laughed heartily. "By Jove, she has fire! I like her."

Holmes rolled his eyes, tried to brush the pale dust from his black jacket, and grumpily climbed back into the cab.


End file.
